


The Only Words I Want to Hear

by thedemolitionclergy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedemolitionclergy/pseuds/thedemolitionclergy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave realizes when he goes over to John’s for a Christmas celebration that he may have forgotten something…and for once it's not his pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Words I Want to Hear

EG:Dave?

EG: Dave hello?

EG: Dave are you coming over or not?

EG: Helloooo?

You sit at your computer, staring at the screen. The light almost blinds you. Almost. You can still see the words of your best friend, begging you to come over.

Your best friend. Your heart drops at the words. John, who you love more than anything. But who you love in a way that he can never return. John’s the one who made the scars on your wrists heal. The one who stopped the self-inflicted scratches that lined your cheeks and neck whenever the world became a bit too overpowering. He saved you, and you couldn’t ruin the relationship between you guys. For his sake, and the sake of your healing skin.

A small computerized *DING* brings your attention back to the screen.

EG: STRIIIIIIIIIIDEEEEEER!

EG: even if you’re not coming over I am

EG: it’s your choice

EG: You’re getting a choice Egbert in your proximity either way

You pause to reply, and somehow John knows that.

EG: Damn Strider I know you’re there.

You type out a quick response, saying you’re going to be there soon, and before you change your mind, hit SEND. He responds immediately.

EG: I knew you’d say yes!

EG: Okay hurry over I got to go set stuff up

ectoBiologist [EG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

TG: set up?

TG: Egbert?

You turn from the screen with a sigh and instead head to your closet. With much deliberation (not) you decide on a Christmas sweater Rose knit for you. John fussed over it, and though it’s an ugly motherfucking thing, you decide today you must do whatever will make him happy. With your glasses, a scarf and a quick goodbye to Bro (wherever he is) you head out to John’s.

By the time you get there, it’s dark, and you can see the huge glowing Christmas tree illuminated in the front window. Since you and Bro moved here, every Christmas John and his Dad have gotten a bigger and bigger tree. This year it scrapes the ceiling, tilted at an angle so the deformed angel on top is peering at you sideways. You can see John trying to place more ornaments on the tree, his sweater (likewise made by Rose) pulled half-way up his stomach by his stretch to reach higher, and you blush and look away, feeling dirty.

You press the doorbell, resisting the urge to sit on the snow covered green worm thing that John convinced you “is totally awesome” and is not for 5 year olds. As you wait the urge gets stronger, and you give in, the frost soaking your butt and legs. A rectangle of light appears on the dark snow, and John sticks his face through the doorway, his hair a mess and his glasses adorably askew as always, and a big dorky smile on his face. Your heart swells in your chest, and as he calls your name you watch him in silence, but as the grin drops and he starts to head back inside, you have to say something.

“John.”

He turns and sees you, and his eyes light up. “Dave! You came! I was about to start pestering you again.” He gestures you inside and you follow his pointing with a smile. “Come on in, your present is waiting.”

Suddenly you stop, dread filling up your body. You can’t move. You didn’t get him a gift. You can feel your eyes tearing up as you murmur something about having to leave.

His face is confused, his body stuck in a statue of welcome as he asks: “What?”

You sprint back out into the snow and run to the one place where you can cry alone. The one place that is too obvious for him to look.

As you sit on the floor of the treehouse, old habits begin again. You rip off the scarf and begin to claw at yourself. First the nails only leave thin red marks on your cheeks and neck, and then they become bruised. After that is when the bleeding starts. The blood coats the skin beneath your nails, freezing and drying there. You want to stop but you can’t, and your tears sting the raw skin as you remind yourself how stupid you are, how unworthy of living, how you couldn’t even remember a gift for the only one you care about. You don’t know when the screaming starts, but as you rock back and forth and muffle it in your bloody sleeves you know it’s coming from your own lungs.

You don’t hear John climb up through the sound of your own pain. But somehow his arms are around you and you’re halfway into his lap and you’ve stopped screaming but you’re crying harder and clinging to him like he’s the last thing in the world you can hold onto. He rocks you back and forth, and strokes your hair and comforts you with soft “Shhhh’s.”

Once your crying is reduced to hiccups, he asks you:

“What’s wrong? Is it something I did? I’m sorry Dave, I shouldn’t have made you see me if you didn’t want to.”

You shake your head furiously because no, of course that’s not it, you want to be with him all the time but you can’t tell him that, so all you say is:

“I didn’t get you a present.”

He laughs and it shocks you a little bit.

“Of course you did, Dave. You gave me the best present I could wish for.”

You realize at some point your glasses were lost, and with a desperate hand you search for them, wanting to hide the disappointment at the words that have to come next. You brace yourself for “your friendship, Dave.”

But they never come.

“You.”

And suddenly his lips are on yours and his hand is in the small of your back pushing you closer to him and you’re so shocked that you don’t dare to move. But you breathe him in and somehow your hands are creeping around his neck and you’ve relaxed into the rightness of the kiss and now it’s you that’s pulling him closer, and it’s your hands that are creeping into his dark hair, and you can see your frozen blood on his skin but he doesn’t seem to care, and so you don’t jerk away like you should. Instead, you sit there, kissing your best friend in the snow like it’s normal and right.

Which, at this moment, it is.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic so tell me if you like it I'd appreciate the feedback!


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